


The Tenant

by Endangered_Slug



Series: September Prompts [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time Meeting, Fluff, Prompt Fic, Your reputation precedes you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shipperqueen93 prompted: Belle moves into a new apartment and asks the nice looking gentleman coming out to hold the door for her. She doesn't learn until later that the man she was talking/flirting with was the landlord everyone warned her about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tenant

“Thank you, Miss French,” the leasing agent said, smiling with a nervous tick in his cheek. “I believe that covers everything.”

She smiled brightly at him. “Very good. When can I expect the keys?”

He fumbled to open his desk drawer, then fumbled it open and fumbled through the contents. He dug around a bit before he pulled out a small manila envelope with an address written on it in tiny, neat handwriting. “You can have them now,” he said, handing it over to her. “The apartment is empty and clean.” 

She took it, surprised to have received the keys so quickly, but she put that down to small town quirkiness. The envelope was tucked into her purse. “And should I send the rent to you?”

The man chuckled nervously. “No, no, no, no,” he put up his hands as if to ward off her money. “I don't handle the rent. Mr. Gold or his agent, Mr. Dove, will come by directly every month on the fifteenth to collect. He does it with all his tenants. He's... I must warn you, he's very strict and won't tolerate late payments. No grace period at all. It's all in your contract. That you signed,” he added as if accusing her of some great crime.

Belle looked at him warily. “Yes, I remember reading that part and it's fine. Are you okay, Mr. Smee?”

He jumped a bit. “Fine! I'm fine. Really.” He scooted closer, leaning over his desk. “Look, I can't in all good conscious rent you this apartment without warning you to _never_ cross Mr. Gold.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

“I mean it. He's ruthless. He'll kick you out faster than you can blink if you give him the slightest cause. When he comes to your door, just hand him your money and he'll go away.”

“You make him sound like a boogeyman.”

He leaned back, his face relaxing in relief. “That's it! He's the boogeyman.”

She lifted a skeptical eyebrow at him, unsure if he was putting her on or not. “I don't believe in the boogeyman, Mr. Smee.” 

The smile slid from his face. “Then I wish you luck, Miss French. Good day,” he said, dismissively. He hunched his shoulders and busied himself with paperwork as if she had vanished into thin air.

“Good day,” she said, with a confused half-smile. She gathered her purse and coat and left the building quickly, stepping into the fresh autumn air with relish.

It was a short drive from Mr. Smee's office to her new apartment so she decided to head over there to take some measurements before going back to her father's place. 

It would do her some good to live on her own, she thought, looking up at the building. She had rented a corner apartment on the fourth floor and, if she craned her head, she would be able to see the bay and her new library. It was a lovely view and she couldn't wait to get started moving in.

Her dad hadn't taken kindly to her moving on and out, but she figured that he would get used to it. It was well past time she left the nest, having lived at home throughout her entire college career to save money. Now she was twenty-seven and living with her dad was stifling to say the least. She needed space. 

When the job opening looking for a new head librarian at the Storybrooke Public Library had opened up, she jumped at the opportunity despite the slim chances of being hired. There were currently more librarians in the US than there were jobs for them, and she counted herself lucky that she landed the position when she did. 

She dug the envelope out of her purse, ripping it open with her teeth and shook the key out onto her hand. It was a shiny brass key, new, and it was her very own. She squeezed it in her hand, enjoying the way the sharp teeth bit into her palm.

She opened the front door and walked into the lobby with the original marble tiled entryway inlaid with the building's number. There wasn't an elevator, but the stairway was wide and well lit, something she'd learned to appreciate after living once in a squalid building during her high school years.

“Hey there!” a voice called out from above her and Belle craned her neck to see who it was.

She was greeted by a woman with long, red hair and a wide smile hanging over the railing. 

“Hello,” Belle answered with a smile. She started up the stairs.

“You must be the new tenant,” the woman said, with a grin.

“I am. I just got my key. Hi, I'm Belle.” She held out her hand, which the other woman took in her surprisingly strong grip.

“I'm Ariel. I live in 2B.”

“It's good to meet you, Ariel.”

“Likewise. Hey, we should have a welcome party for you when you move in!”

“Oh! Oh, that's kind of you, but not necessary, really.”

“Nonsense, it would be fun and you should meet everyone else in the building. We're like family here. Besides you need to know how to handle Mr. Gold and we can teach you that.”

“Um... the leasing agent told me the some weird things about our landlord, like don't cross him? What is that about?”

Ariel's eyes went wide. “Yeah, you don't want to get on his bad side.”

“Is he that bad?” 

“Let's just say that your apartment came available after he evicted Ashley and her six month-old baby because she was late with the rent,” Ariel crossed her arms angrily looking like she was ready to rip someone's throat out. Possibly this Mr. Gold. Possibly Belle's.

“That's horrible.”

Ariel rolled her eyes and turned toward her own apartment. “That's Mr. Gold,” she called over her shoulder. “Pay your rent on time, you'll be fine. And never make a deal with him. Ever,” she said as she closed the door.

“Yeah, okay,” Belle said quietly wondering if she looked like a deadbeat since, so far, two people had warned her about the rent. Still, she'd never been late before and she didn't plan on it now. Her father had been careless with money and that made Belle extra cautious, taking over the budget when she'd gotten tired of eating uncooked ramen noodles for dinner because he forgot to pay the electric bill again.

 

Moving day was a dismal and rainy, not the best kind of day for hauling boxes up four flights of stairs, but she didn't have very much stuff. She'd had a new mattress delivered the day before and the apartment came furnished with a living room set. The majority of her belongings were mostly books and shoes and a few cooking necessities.

Well, mostly books.

And shoes.

She was on her fifth trip from her car when she was stopped by front door. She'd had it propped open but someone must have kicked the doorstop away. What a nuisance. She juggled the box, trying to balance it on her knee while she slapped at the handle unable to get a proper grip on either it or her box when a voice from over her shoulder interrupted her.

“Are you having difficulties, miss?” 

The voice was low and deep and had a rich Scottish burr that went straight to her already tired knees. Belle looked over her shoulder a bit. “Someone closed the door on me. Would you—”

The gentleman had already hurried around her and opened it, squeezing out of her way and into the building so he could hold it open.

Belle beamed at him over her box. “Thanks! I'd hate to drop this and lose my momentum.” She hurried up the stairs before he could respond, huffing the entire way and ready to collapse by the time she reached her door, firmly wedged open with a brick she'd found laying outside and brought in for the purpose of her move.

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and trudged back downstairs, tired and hungry and beginning to regret her extensive reading habit.

The man was still standing in the foyer, leaning on a black, gold-topped cane. He looked at her expectantly.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said with a bright smile. “I thought I had that door propped open.”

He smiled back a bit warily. “Not a problem, miss...?”

“Belle,” she supplied offering him a hand, which he took with surprise. His hands were rough and calloused for someone who was dressed so formally.

He was impeccably dressed for a Saturday. He must have been somewhere special because who wears a three piece suit on the weekends? He had long, brown hair shot through with gray, and a long, thin, pointy nose underneath which was a long, thin, expressive mouth. She caught a glimpse of a gold tooth but what caught her attention were his large, brown eyes, crinkled around the edged as he regarded her cautiously as if she was going to bite.

“Belle French?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow at her.

He tilted his head a bit, regarding her carefully. His eyes took her in, from the top of her messy bun with the damp curls spilling out of it, down to her stained T-shirt and cut offs and wet, sneakered feet. She felt unkempt compared to him in his neat suit, but the weight of his gaze didn't make her feel ashamed of her current state, she was, after all, moving in. She noticed the way his eyes lingered on her lips, which she instinctively wet with the tip of her tongue. He settled on her face with a slight smile on his mouth. His gaze, instead of making her feel like meat, felt like a warm caress.

“You know who I am?” 

He shrugged. “It's a small town.”

She chuckled a bit. “Yes, I suppose so Mr...”

He blinked, pressing his lips together. “Um.” He glanced up the stairwell and back. “Andrew.”

“Mr. Andrew?”

His lips quirked up at the corners a bit, not quite blooming into a smile that Belle was sure would be dazzling if she saw it.

“No, that's my first name. Andrew.” He shifted his cane a bit. “Have you met any of the other tenants yet?”

She dug her hands into her back pockets, rocking back on her heels a bit. “Let's see... I've met Ariel in 2B, Leroy in 3A, and I've caught a glimpse of my next door neighbor, but I didn't get a chance to meet him yet. Was that you?”

“No, I'm...” He licked his lips nervously. “I don't actually live in the building.”

“Oh.” Well, maybe he was here to pick someone up to go to that fancy whatever it is he was obviously going to. Maybe he was attending a wedding. Even his overcoat looked formal. “Ariel mentioned something about a welcome party once I moved in,” she said slowly, wondering if her mouth was going to get her into trouble. She looked up at him sheepishly, realizing that she was staring at his tie. 

“A party?” he asked with a bit of interest.

“A meet and greet thing. Oh, and something about our landlord and how to deal with him? Apparently I'm supposed to avoid him at all costs. I got that from both Ariel and Mr. Smee.” She scrunched up her face, lightly shaking her head. “Odd. He can't be that bad.”

There was a definite smirk on his face now. “Your landlord is a monster then?”

“I don't really pay much attention to gossip. So, do you think you might be there? At the party?”

Andrew looked at her with some amusement. “I don't think I'd be invited.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip thoughtfully before realizing that she was keeping him from his plans. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Andrew. Um, I have to go finish bringing in my stuff now.”

He shook his head as if snapped out of his trance a bit and stepped aside. “Right! Sorry. Did you need help carrying anything?”

She glanced down at the cane he was holding and back at his face, which was turning red. “It's mostly books and I'm on the fourth floor.”

“Then I'll let you get to it,” he said, softly. “Goodbye, Belle.” 

She watched him hurry out of the building, leaning heavily on his cane without a look back. “Bye.”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. The Landlord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew has a shovel and has dug the hole deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I was very surprised at how many people wanted this continued (any number higher than zero is surprising to me). Thank you so much! I have a few chapters sorted out in my head and I pretty much know when, where, and how the big reveal will happen (that is a sign that I read too many house blogs), but, if you wanted to prompt me, I would love it.

Andrew Gold wasn't stupid. He knew his tiny deception with Belle French would come to a crashing, bitter end — probably sooner than he'd like, possibly later than he expected — but he found that he couldn't help himself once he got started. 

He didn't mean to do it. He'd gone to the apartment complex with every intention of meeting with Miss French — with _Belle —_ to give her his “welcome to the building, don't make me evict you” talk, something he did with every new tenant, but then he'd found himself confronted with her brilliant smiles and an openness that, when it came time to reveal himself, he couldn't do it. 

He liked the way she brightened up whenever she saw him, which was rarely in public and never where he knew other people would call him out. He enjoyed her conversation and the fact that she wasn't afraid of him. He could actually talk to her, without threats, without animosity, without the underlying fear that she was trying to weasel out a free favor.

Andrew didn't consider himself a lonely man, even though by textbook standards, he was. He kept no company, rarely went out socially, and the only person he could consider a friend up until now was an employee. People feared him in this town and he liked it to some extent. He enjoyed having consequence and standing, even if it was in some backwater town in Maine. It was a far cry from his youth in council estates in Glasgow where he had to fight for every scrap of food and every ounce of respect came at the cost of bloody knuckles and busted lips. 

It helped that he worked directly across the street from the library so he could see her coming and going. Not that he paid extra attention to Belle. No. But if he just happened to look out his window and just happened to see that she was heading towards Granny's at eleven-thirty for lunch and that she came back half an hour later with a takeout bag in hand, well, it was just something he noticed, that was all. The library was busy from noon until one, but from about one fifteen until school let out it was slow enough that he could exit out the back of his shop, cross the street from the opposite corner and walk to the library from the other direction, spending a good ten minutes talking with the new librarian, checking out one of her book recommendations (and her legs) until he felt like he'd risked fate long enough for one day.

Belle, he learned, was equally curious about him, or at least the absent Mr. Gold, as she frequently stopped by the shop, peering in the windows at the dusty merchandise while he hid in the back room, peeking back through the heavy, velvet curtain dividing it from the front. He was a coward, he knew that as much as he knew that he was a downright, dirty bastard, but he also knew that he didn't want this thing with Belle to end. So he delayed the inevitable as much as he could knowing deep down that it would all blow up in his face in a spectacular fashion.

He kept the shop's sign flipped to “CLOSED” early in the morning and in the late afternoon, when Belle was likely to come by. It seemed Belle French was the only person in town with any reading comprehension whatsoever, a good trait for a librarian, a deplorable one for an elementary school teacher. But Mary Margaret Blanchard also knew that “CLOSED” didn't necessarily mean he wasn't there, and so she would barge in whenever she felt like it. Same with the mayor, the dog catcher, the local shrink, the sheriff, and anyone else in town who wanted a deal and knew where to find him. 

All _he_ wanted was Belle's lively conversation and warm smiles. She was intelligent, she was nice, she was beautiful, and _tactile_ , touching him on the arm or sometimes brushing his hair off his collar. She even hugged him once, short-circuiting his brain before he recovered his wits. It was a novelty to him, this whole friendship thing so he did what he could to keep it... other than actually telling her the truth. 

And it was rent day.

Gold had assigned Belle's apartment building to Dove for the month, but he nevertheless found himself skulking around the foyer anyway, wondering if he should just get it over with. He'd had a good run, this interlude with Belle, but it was probably time to come clean and tell her that he was the hated landlord of Storybrooke she'd been asking about. It was probably better to do it sooner rather than later.

He had just talked himself into trudging up the four flights of stairs when he heard her laughing voice from above followed by the quiet, low tones of his assistant, Dove. They were rapidly descending and he hurried back the way he came before he was caught without an excuse — too late, he had been spotted.

“Andrew,” Belle called out, smiling as usual, her blue eyes sparkling with merriment. “Hey, I didn't expect to see you this evening.” She hugged him — in front of Dove — using his first name, beaming at him as if he was a person and not some kind of monster. He cautiously wrapped his arms around her, tentatively hugging her back, breathing in the scent of her light perfume before pulling away. He looked at Dove over her shoulder, trying to convey with his eyes that his grandchildren's grandchildren would be paying if he breathed one word of his last name to Belle before he, himself, was ready for it.

Bless Dove, he was smarter than he looked. The corner of his lips lifted minutely and he looked away giving the pair a bit of privacy.

“I was just telling Mr. Dove about my broken window.” Belle said, straightening out her sweater as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“You have a broken window?” he asked, sharply. “When did that happen?”

“About a week after I moved in. I think a bird flew into it — happens all the time. I've been trying to get in touch with Mr. Gold but his shop is always closed.”

“Really?” he asked, deliberately ignoring the pointed look Dove was giving him. It was not Dove's concern how he operated his business.

Belle rolled her eyes. “The man is impossible to find. I still haven't met him and everyone I meet tells me the most ridiculous stories. I'm beginning to think he doesn't actually exist.”

Andrew chuckled weakly, but it was drowned out over Dove's barking laughter. This was probably the best time to reveal his identity, but he would rather not do it in front of... people. Anyone. Ever.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Have you put in a complaint to Mr. Smee?”

“I did, but he said it had nothing to do with him and to call Mr. Gold, who is nowhere to be found of course. I was hoping to meet him tonight, but I met Mr. Dove instead and I'm so glad I did, because he said he'd take care of it.”

“He _did_?” Andrew's eyes flitted to his employee with some surprise.

“I just told her that _Mr._ _Gold_ was timely with repairs and that I'd let him know about it,” the man said, wiping his eyes with a plain, white handkerchief then stuffing it in a wad in a pocket.

“A building in disrepair is more trouble than any initial cost would be I imagine.” It was true that he never shirked his duty to his tenants, but he was surprised to have anyone speak about him in a complimentary way about anything that he automatically forgave him for laughing just now.

They had all turned toward the door, Belle wrapping her arm around his in a way that left him feeling light-headed.

“Are you coming or going?” she asked, tilting her head up at him and looking at him through her long lashes.

“Um, I'm com— I'm going,” he stuttered, mentally flinching at his gaff. This was a stupid idea. He was foolish to think he'd get away with this charade.

“Because Dove said he was done for the evening,” she continued without noticing his hesitation. “And we decided to go get a pizza.”

Andrew's cheek twitched. “That's nice.” He turned and glared at Dove over her head. He would eviscerate him. Slowly. With a shrimp fork.

“Did you want to come with us?” Belle asked, her sweet face looking up at him with some fondness.

Gold swallowed audibly.

Oh god he did. So, so much. But going out for pizza meant going out in public, which meant that people would stare and talk and then talk _to_ him and he would be found out. And how would they get there? Everyone knew he drove the big Cadillac. There would be no way they could simply dine out without losing Belle's smiles and touches. It had all gotten so terribly complicated and preposterous. They couldn't get pizza to go unless... no, he couldn't insist on Belle hosting in her apartment and Dove had a roommate and his own house was out of the question. Andrew was beginning to regret this entire fiasco.

“That sounds wonderful,” he said reluctantly as her smile dimmed somewhat. “But I have a prior engagement.” Counting the rent money and drinking expensive scotch. In his house. Alone. “Maybe a rain check?” he asked, hopefully. Maybe with planning and care, he could take her out to dinner without Dove chaperoning or bitter citizens breathing down his neck.

She brightened up. “I'll hold you to that,” she said in a low voice, releasing his arm and stepping away from him. Dove held the door open for both of them and they walked out in to the crisp night air.

“I hope you do,” he replied with a smile of his own, forgetting that Dove was watching him closely. “Enjoy your pizza. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight... _Andrew_ ,” Dove said with a smirk.

Gold narrowed his eyes at him. Forget everything, he thought. The man was going to find himself disemboweled and unemployed come morning.

 

 


	3. The Pet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters follows an [anonymous ask](http://endangeredslug.tumblr.com/post/98822832293/the-tenant-andrew-has-belle-ever-asked-you-what-you) over on Tumblr. If you don't feel like reading that bascially Belle invites Andrew over to her place for dinner.
> 
> If you're interested, there are a few more short, prompted ficlets based on The Tenant on my page there.

Andrew closed shop an hour early, snuck out the back, and quickly drove to his home on the edge of town. There wasn't any possibility that Belle would have seen him since the library had been closed for two hours and she was, no doubt, cooking dinner in her apartment, but the habit had become so ingrained in him by now that it felt wrong to blatantly walk out of his front door.

His house was as cold and empty as it had always been and before he met Belle, it wasn't something he'd paid any attention to. Before Belle, he'd been fine, considered himself content — as happy as he'd ever be in this life — but now, with several weeks of friendly companionship under his belt, so to speak, he felt dissatisfied with everything: his house, his shop, his real estate holdings, himself most of all, especially with the way he started off their relationship with a falsehood. He tried telling himself that he'd had no real opportunity to tell her that he was the “mysterious” Mr. Gold, landlord and ogre of Storybrooke before now, but the truth was he'd had plenty of chances. He was a coward. He knew that. He had to make it right or risk losing Belle French's regard forever

Tonight was probably the last chance he'd have to tell her before the whole situation went from absurd misunderstanding into deliberate, calculating lie.

He took a quick shower, washing off the day's grime, then stood in front of his wardrobe with a damp towel wrapped around his waist, examining his clothes critically. Their date (and he wasn't sure if he should consider it a date or not) was at her apartment, which meant it would be a casual, relaxed affair. He pulled out a pair of jeans and tossed them on the bed followed by a crisp white shirt. Jeans were always a safe bet, he thought. Probably. He spritzed a bit of cologne on his neck and glanced at his bed.

Maybe it would be too casual? Perhaps a tie as well.

He selected a black tie and put it on top of the shirt, but now the jeans looked all wrong. He put the jeans away and selected a pair of dark grey pants — _almost_ black but not quite. He pulled everything on carefully and looked at himself in the mirror, grimacing.

This was all wrong. He couldn't show up on her doorstep looking like a missionary.

He yanked the tie off and threw it over his shoulder. Not a black tie then. The red one. With the swirls. It looked ridiculous with his white button-down so he stripped that off, tossing it aside, and took out a charcoal one several shades lighter than the pants. Much better. Still casual, but dressy enough that showed that he took the dinner engagement seriously. He put in his lucky cufflinks, twisting around to see what he looked like in the back as he fiddled with his sleeves. Well, he wasn't getting any younger, he thought. Maybe he should cover up a bit? He turned back towards his wardrobe and eyed his selection of jackets...

Twenty minutes later Gold stood before Belle's door, straightening out the hem of his waistcoat with short, fast jerks and trying to get his breathing under control. The trek up four flights of stairs didn't do his ankle any favors and now he was out of breath. He'd rather hide under a rock than let Belle see him in this condition. A few minutes collecting himself before knocking would also help his racing nerves. He wondered if he should explain himself before or after dinner. Or maybe it would be best to just tell her before he walked in, that way she wouldn't have to waste an entire evening with him.

Fuck. No matter what he was sure to screw it all up entirely. 

* * *

Belle stood at the door peering at Andrew through the peephole. She'd heard his cane on the stairs when he rounded the third floor and stood ready to greet him, but he was just standing there tugging on his suit jacket. She wanted to open the door and tell him to just come in already, but she realized she was being just as ridiculous standing by the door watching him as he was standing there staring at it.

Maybe he was nervous? Her own stomach had been invaded by a squadron of butterflies ever since yesterday afternoon when she blurted out her dinner invitation. They were currently doing an acrobatic number that made her feel slightly dizzy and she wanted them to stop.

At last Andrew knocked on the door. Belle counted to five before opening the door with a smile.

  
“Hey!” she said as she opened the door wide to let him in. She gave him what she hoped was a discrete once-over. He was wearing another impeccable suit and looked absolutely gorgeous. She nervously pulled at her collar feeling severely underdressed in her sweater and leggings. She was going for relaxed casual and instead she felt sloppy and girlish. Maybe she should have put on shoes? She'd been so anxious about dinner that she didn't give much thought about her appearance. “I was, um, just about to go change. Do you mind waiting a bit?”

 _What? What? What?_ Why did she say that? Belle felt an excruciating blush blooming on her cheeks, the butterflies had stopped their aeroballet and were now strafing her spleen.

He looked at her with some confusion. “You look perfect and comfortable.” He cleared his throat. “Don't change on my account.” He glanced around her apartment, zeroing in on a tiny, orange ball of fur currently blinking at him from a potted plant. “You have a cat?” he asked, surprised.

Belle groaned. “No, I don't. Well, yes. _No_. Sort of. It's not really mine, although... he may be now.”

He crouched down in front of it, wincing as his leg told him exactly what it thought of that act. He stuck out a finger and stoked the fur underneath its neck setting off a purr-reaction louder than it had any right to be given its size. It was thinner than it should be even for a kitten, filthy, and had a gummy eye.

“I found him today in back of the library. He was in the big trash bin and I dumped a big bag of, well, trash on top of him — I felt so bad — and look at him, he's so cute! I couldn't just leave him in the dumpster.”

“Of course not.” He looked up at her with his lips pressed together as if he was holding in a laugh.

She chuckled, feeling a bit relieved and plopped down next to him, leaning in to admire her new friend.

  
“I took him to the shelter, but David said they had no room for another cat — they are completely full. So it was either put him back in the dumpster or take him home. So I took him....” she glanced at him, started when she realized he was a lot closer than she'd realized. He smelled divine and she felt herself getting caught in his warm, brown eyes. “I brought him home,” she whispered.

“What do you plan to do with it?” he asked, in a low voice.

“Um...” She blinked a few times trying to break the trance she was under. “I'm not allowed pets. The rental agreement was very specific about that, so I can't keep him. Unless...” She gave him her best salesman smile. “Do you want him? I'll buy you a year's supply of lint rollers,” she said, pinching at the arm of his jacket. “Keep the cat hair off your suits?”

“I'm not really a cat person,” he said with a rueful smirk. “So what's your solution?”

“I don't know,” she said with some frustration. “I'm thinking of letting him live at the library. But right now he's too young and I don't know anyone who can foster him until then.” She looked at him sheepishly. “Do you think Mr. Gold would be terribly upset if I sort of kept him temporarily until he's big enough to stay at the library by himself?” She looked back down at the kitten who was trying to eat the palm frond. She took the frond out of its mouth and the cat out of the pot and cuddled it in her lap, stroking the fur absentmindedly as if the cat wasn't filthy and probably riddled with fleas. “I don't like the idea of lying about it. It seems wrong, but everyone I've spoken to says he's an absolute tyrant. I don't know what to do.”

Andrew's face was carefully blank as he considered her options. Belle watched him out of the corner of her eyes while still, ostensibly, paying attention to the kitten in her lap. She admired the long, crooked line of his nose and the way his hair brushed his face. She longed to touch it and see if it was as soft as it looked. She looked back down at her cat and stroked it instead.

“Um, Belle,” he began, looking at her with a guilty expression. “I don't think... Mr. _Gold_ would have any problem with a temporary cat.”

She beamed at him. “Really? Everyone else told me he'd have me evicted.”

He shook his head. “No, that won't happen.”

“I'll go see him tomorrow and talk to him about it,” she said, confidently. “I'm sure he'll be in at some point during the day. I'll just keep watch from the library.”

He gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Do you want to get off this floor?” she asked.

“Very much,” he said, relieved.

She put the kitten down and got up, brushing the back of her sweater off then held out a hand to him, which he took with a tiny bit of hesitation. She noticed his discomfort, but she didn't want to make a big deal out of it. He walked with a cane and had been sitting on the floor. Anyone would need help getting up, there was no need to feel ashamed.

“Let's have dinner.”

 


	4. The Dove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. I should have warned you that I'm a slow updater. :)
> 
> Several anons have asked to see Dove again and one has asked for Belle to catch Gold off guard in his shop.

It was rent day and Mr. Dove lurked in the shadows of the pawn shop waiting for his employer to open the front door for business hours. He positioned himself so that, as he leaned against the wall, he would have the best view of the library and of the tiny librarian as she flitted past the windows doing... whatever it was that librarians did. Sorted books, he guessed. It seemed to be an easy kind of a job, but when he mentioned it to Belle the night they went out for pizza she merely laughed and handed him the cheese shaker.

Dove never brought it up again.

He'd never seen anything like her, to be honest. Miss French had been in town for two months and she'd managed, in that short time span, to reduce his hard-hearted employer to a wibbling, fibbing, love-sick mess and Dove had had quite enough of it.

It wasn't so much the fact that Mr. Gold seemed completely besotted with her, or the fact that he was absolutely out of his depth whenever she was around. No, it was more of the fact that it had been two months already and she was still just as clueless about Gold's true identity as she was the day she moved in.

Dove knew that Mr. Gold had hired him because of his imposing looks and penchant for not asking questions, but he wasn't stupid. This had all the makings of a disaster and, if he wasn't careful, he would be brought down along side Mr. Gold.

Keeping Gold's secrets was part of his job description and his loyalty was paid for handsomely, but he didn't want Belle to be mad at him, which she rightly would be when she found out the truth and realized he'd kept Gold's secret this whole time. At the same time, it was none of his business and, more importantly, he would be fired from his mostly legal job if he so much as stepped a toe out of line.

He stretched out his arms, feeling the way his muscles threatened the seams of his suit, then rolled his head from side to side a bit. He hadn't slept well, the worry over his job, Gold's cowardice, and Belle's pending heartbreak weighed heavily upon him. Maybe a round of collections will take his mind off of it, he thought.

As if on cue, Belle moved across a window, seemingly intent on observing him as much as he was observing her. Maybe she suspected something, he thought. Maybe she was just bored. Either way, he hoped Gold would hurry up and finish with his convoluted commute and open the shop already. It was chilly out.

Finally, he heard the tell-tale kathunks of heavy-duty deadbolts being unlocked — Mr. Gold being very serious about security and all — and he straightened up to his full height, enjoying how he loomed over, well, over everyone except for Anton down at the farm share. 

“Good morning, Mr. Dove,” Gold said in a cheerful voice.

Gold held the door open for him with a smirk, and Dove took a moment to look back at the library once more and Miss French, who was standing in front of her window with, well, it seems that Miss French owned a pair of binoculars. How nice.

“Good morning, Mr. Gold,” he replied, deliberately avoiding the use of his first name and refraining from mentioning the interesting fact that they were under librarian surveillance. “Nice night last night?” he asked since the man was obviously in a good mood.

Gold gave him a crooked smile which was instantly wiped off his face with a curse as the door opened. 

“Finally!” Belle exclaimed as the shop's bell jangled her entrance. She looked up at it with amusement then glanced around the store with curiosity before noticing Dove and Mr. Gold standing in the middle of the store caught like mice in a trap.

Dove moved away, scooting a bone china tea set further away from her reach just in case she got demonstrably angry. 

She looked surprised to see both of them there for a second, but apparently their presence wasn't enough to make her suspicious because her smile widened when she looked at Gold. As if she was happy to see him. As if they were chums.

“Good morning, Andrew.” She reached over and touched Gold's hand lightly before shining her thousand watt smile at him. “And Dove! I haven't seen you in a long time. How are you?”

He coughed lightly. “I'm fine, Miss Belle. Just waiting on orders.”

Confusion flitted across her face before clearing. “You mean rent collection?”

He glanced at Gold and nodded.

“I thought so. I brought mine today, hoping to catch Mr. Gold at work, but if you're by the apartment building later you should stop by anyway. I'm making snickerdoodles later,” she said oblivious to the fact that Gold was quietly trying to melt into the back room. She stopped him with a glance in his direction. “I didn't expect to see you here so early, Andrew. Is Mr. Gold here?”

Dove stared at his boss, willing him to tell her the truth: Mr. Gold was, in fact, in. He was also, in fact, Andrew. But in true Gold fashion he merely cleared his throat and shook his head. He should have told her weeks ago and apparently, he hadn't.

What a bastard.

“I'm afraid... no.” 

It took every bit of will power Dove had not to smack himself in the face for that.

Belle visibly deflated. “Really?” She blew a stray hair out of her face in exasperation. “I was so hoping to meet him to talk about Rocky.”

“Who's Rocky?”

“You remember my kitten?”

Dove blinked. 

“You named him Rocky?” 

She blushed slightly. “Well, his full name is Rochester, but that's a mouthful. I think he's actually blind in that eye so it seemed fitting.”

Dove had no idea what they were talking about and it annoyed him. He watched their exchange as he watched everything, discretely and in the background, where people tended to forget he was there until he wanted to make himself known. He slipped his hand into his inner breast pocket and pulled out his phone (phone and wallet in the right-hand pocket, revolver in the holster on his left — never mix the two up).

He quickly Googled “Rochester the one-eyed kitten,” but nothing came up except for a book written over a century ago. He shrugged to himself, making a memo to ask Belle about it later when he collected the snickerdoodles she'd promised. If it was a book then she would know all about it. Then he turned his attention back to the ridiculousness in front of him. 

“And does he also have a secret wife locked in the attic?” Gold went on oblivious to his employee's opinions and unconcerned even if he did. 

“Not that I'm aware of,”she said with a smirk. “But then, if it's a secret then I wouldn't know about it would I?” 

This was the perfect time for Mr. Gold to come clean and Dove waited for him to say, “Funny thing about secrets, Miss French...” but the opportunity passed him by as he stared like a puppy into Belle's eyes. 

It was disgusting. 

She ducked her head, blushing a bit before handing the envelope to Dove who pocketed it immediately next to his phone. “Please make sure Mr. Gold gets this, Burt. And don't forget to stop by later for the cookies, yeah?” She looked up at him hopefully. “I expect to see you.”

“Yes, Miss Belle,” he said, looking anywhere but at Gold's face. “I'll see you later.”

She turned to Gold, eyes just as hopeful and, Dove thought, a few shades darker. 

"I like your shirt, Andrew," Belle said, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “You look very dapper today.” She reached up and straightened his tie a bit, useless since it was already perfectly straight. 

Dove squinted at his employer, giving his outfit a once-over. He was wearing his Rent Day shirt, a checkered monstrosity that even Dove knew looked pretty silly on a grown man, but if Belle liked it then he would bet his left foot that Gold would start wearing it more often. 

Gold tried to keep his grin to himself but the corner of his mouth twitched up tellingly. "Why thank you, Belle."

“You, um, should come, too. Later, I mean. At my apartment.” Her face flushed beet red as she shook her head in embarrassment. “I mean, I would like it if you came over again. If you have time,” she clarified with a slight huff of a laugh. 

“I would like that. I'll see if I can make it an early evening.”

They were staring at each other as if they were the only ones in the shop. Dove suspected that nothing short of a meteorite strike would stop their blatant flirting with each other. He wanted to shuffle into the backroom, but then he'd miss his boss's weird mating dance with the little librarian — something he never thought he'd live to see. Belle's idea of flirtation was like chucking water balloons at Gold's head while Gold walked around with his hand out going “tut-tut, it looks like rain.”

He wished he kept his phone out and filmed it. 

Belle glanced at one of the many clocks in the shop and heaved a sigh. “I have to go. Story time is in a few minutes and I still have to set up the puppets.” She started towards the door, walking backwards in a show of reckless abandon and blind trust given the heels she was wearing.

She took another glance around, this time really seeing the shop for the first time. “I need to come back here. This place is like Aladdin's cave!” She reached out a hand and softly ran a finger don the slope of a feathered fan. 

Gold coughed into his fist. “Yes. Well, maybe I can arrange a tour some day.”

That must have been the right thing to say because her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I'd love that, Andrew. Let me know when a good time will be and I'll make sure I'm available.”

Gold nodded his head and saw her out the door, locking firmly once she'd made it safely across the street. His watched her with a small smile on his face and Dove took that opportunity to loom over his shoulder, peering out to see Belle wave at them from the library door.

He handed over the envelope then moved back to a respectful distance. “Any new instructions, Boss?” he asked, as neutrally as possible. 

Gold tapped the envelope against his thigh, thinking. “No. No. We'll keep to the same route as last month. You go... collect your cookies.”

“You don't mind?”

The man shook his head with a small laugh. “Not at all. Belle expects you and I'd hate for anything to disappoint her.”

Dove quirked an eyebrow at him. “It would be a crying shame,” he said. 

Gold shrugged then turned toward the back room. “Besides,” he said over his shoulder. “I happen to know that you're allergic to cats.”


	5. The Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is actually a bit old. It's been posted on my [tumblr](http://endangeredslug.tumblr.com/Writing) for a couple of weeks (and there are a lot of snippets over there if you are interested - telling how Dove got his job, why Belle still seems clueless, things like that), but it's pretty important for the following chapter so I've decided to post it here. Sorry if you've already read it. 
> 
> Also, thank you to those of you who have nominated and ten voted for my stories for the TEAs. Surprise, I actually won two! I don't know how, I voted for Stan. ;) Anyway, thank you very, very much! *blows kisses to all of you*

“You're here!” Belle exclaimed as she opened the door. “I'm so glad you came, I was beginning to think you wouldn't show.” She stepped back to let the man duck under the doorway and step into her living room.

“Collections took a bit longer than usual,” he said, unwilling to give any details as to why collections were running behind. It had been a long night, full of playing the heavy and he didn't like to admit how much it tired him out. He took a deep breath, appreciating the way her apartment smelled like a cookie factory.

“I'm sorry to hear that. What was the problem?” she asked as she led him to the small kitchen where she had a kettle on the stovetop. Every flat surface was covered with trays of cookies, she must have been baking nonstop since she got home from work. She flicked the kettle on, settling back against the counter with her arms crossed.

He shrugged. “Someone didn't want to pay.” Several someones in fact, but that wasn't the half of it. He was tired and only the promise he made to her earlier that day kept him from going home and drawing a bubble bath to wash the day's burden away.

She looked at him, incredulously. “They don't? Who doesn't pay their rent? It happens every month.”

“You'd be surprised how often this happens.” Every month without fail, he thought, bitterly.

“What do you do?”

“I call Mr. Gold.”

“And what does he do?”

Dove thought about the threats, the yelling, the legal actions he'd witnessed over the years and blew out a long sigh. “He either gets them to pay what they owe or he evicts them.”

“Well... I mean, it's not right to not pay your rent, but you can't just evict someone like that. It's against the law.”

Dove just shrugged.

“Does no one understand tenant's rights in this state?” she asked.

Dove shrugged some more.

“Do you—” she paused unable to envision her kind and gentle friend as a beast that throws families out of their homes in the middle of winter. “Do you help him?”

“He's my boss, I do what he tells me.”

She frowned and turned to the tea. “I see. Um, do you want your cookies?”

“May I still have them?”

“Of course! Why shouldn't you?”

“A lot of people in town don't like to associate themselves with me due to my.... association with Mr. Gold.”

“Because he evicts people at a moment's notice?”

“That's one of the reasons, yes.”

“Just the one?”

“He's not well-liked in town.”

“I gathered that. No one I've spoken to has anything positive to say about the man.”

The kettle whistled just then and he was grateful for the interruption. He watched her pour out the water into a waiting teapot then put the teapot on a tray already laden with cups and a sugar bowl and a plate of cookies. 

He took the tray and waited for Belle to lead the way. “Mr. Gold's not a bad man, but he doesn't like people to cheat.”

“Well, no. Who does?”

“You'd be surprised.”

“I suppose so. I don't want to talk about Mr. Gold.” She said, grumpily, walking back into the living room where he dutifully followed her. She gestured for him to sit. “I put Rocky up in my room and vacuumed the couch so you should be able to stay and talk for a while. Unless you've got someplace to be?” she asked tentatively.

“No, I'm done for the evening. Has Andrew been around yet?”

She shook her head, biting her lip with uncertainty. “No. He... he wasn't really sure he'd be able to make it. I was hoping he'd be by, but, well, he's a busy man and the weather's been frightful this evening... Oh! I forgot!” she cried out, running to the console table by the door where a small, flat package was neatly wrapped in brown paper and red and white baker's string. “I have something for you.”

Dove delicately put down his tea cup and surreptitiously wiped his fingers on the seam of his pants. A present? Wrapped up even! He sat up straight with his left and on his left knee and his right hand on his right knee just as his mother had taught him.

Belle offered it to him with both hands and a smile. “It's not much, really. But I noticed at our last poetry reading that your notebook was full so I thought you could use a new one. I had it made by a friend.”

He gently took it from her and pulled the bow loose, letting the sting slide through his fingers before ripping the paper off to reveal a brand new moleskine notebook with a hand painted cover. “This is perfect, Belle,” he said, admiring the delicate artwork on the cover. He ran a finger over it and looked up at her, smiling. “How did you know I liked Sailor Venus.”

She laughed a bit. “It's not something I'd forget. You admitted it to me the first night we met over pizza and a pitcher of beer. Either you're a real lightweight or I have a trusting face.”

He smiled at her. “A trusting face actually. Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “It's too good to use.”

“It was my pleasure, Dove. And it would be a shame to have something not fulfill its purpose don't you think? I expect you to fill it to the edges with lots new poems. I look forward to hearing them, actually,” she said, leaning forward and patting his hand.

He ducked his head and nodded. Belle was a wonderful friend and he was lying to her. It wasn't right. And now, here he was, eating her food, sitting on her cat-free-just-for-him couch and accepting a gift. He hoped Andrew came clean soon so he wouldn't have to keep up this stupid charade any longer. The lights flickered and he used that as an excuse. “I should probably get going before the storm gets any worse,” he said, looking down at Sailor Venus who was staring back at him accusingly. Well... maybe that was just his imagination, maybe it was his guilt. Probably his guilt. He stood up, clutching his new notebook to his chest.

Belle looked at him with disappointment, adding to his guilt toll. “Yes, it does seem to be pretty bad out there. I'll see you on Thursday then?” she asked, holding the door open for him.

“I'll be there,” he said. “Have a good night, Belle.”

She gave him a nod then closed the door behind him, locking it up tight. Dove trudged down the stairs, feeling weighed down by his guilt and by the notebook in his pocket. The lights flickered once more and he figured that the town would lose electricity before long. He picked up his pace, wanting to make it home before that happened, and ran into Mr. Gold who was just coming into the vestibule.

He was dripping wet and his hair was wind-blown and that was unusual enough without the added pale and distressed look on his face.

“Evening, Mr. Gold,” he said, mildly. He felt a surge of bitterness towards the man, but he knew where his loyalties lie. “Everything all settled with the Zimmers?”

Gold nodded, wearily. “Yes, things are all settled.” He looked up the stairs with trepidation. “Everything okay with Belle?”

Dove nodded. “Yeah. She wasn't kidding when she said she'd be baking. It's like a cookie factory in there.”

Gold heaved a sigh. “Yeah.” He started up the stairs, but stopped mid-step. “Dove,” he said, with his back turned. “I appreciate your discretion these past two months, but I think it's time I let Belle know the truth of the matter. I'll try to make sure you aren't implicated too much. Belle's a good person and you're her... friend. I wouldn't want to deprive her of that.” he paused, waiting for Dove to acknowledge him.

“You want me to wait here?”

Gold shook his head. “No, I have my car out front. I doubt this will take very long.”

Dove “Good luck, sir.”

Gold looked at him over his shoulder and gave him a grateful smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Thank you, Dove.”

“Any time.” He stayed to watch his boss plod up the first set of stairs then turned and walked out into the blustery night.

 


	6. The Truth

Gold left Dove to find his way home, trudging up the stairs with a heavy heart and an aching ankle. He nearly turned around and walked out of Belle's building twice and had even gone back down an entire flight of stairs before changing his mind again, the weight of his guilt demanding that he do the right thing for once. He shoved a hand in his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the small box he'd placed there before leaving his shop. It was nothing more than a necklace, a simple pearl drop on a chain that he thought she might like. He probably won't give it to her, not tonight. Probably she would kick him out after he told her everything because even Belle's generous heart could only take so much before crying out 'no more', but he took it with him just the same. Just in case. The necklace smacked of payment though, and that was the wrong message he wanted to convey. He just wanted to give her something nice. Something that said, “Thanks for being my friend, sorry I was such a dickhead.”

Maybe she would give him a chance. Maybe she would understand how much she meant to him.

Maybe he could wish for the moon.

He was standing in front of her door when the lights went out entirely. He cursed under his breath, but realized that he'd be able to use the darkness to his advantage. If he didn't see the anger in Belle's face it would be easier for him and he wouldn't have memories of her disappointment.

He stood there for a few minutes, waiting to see if the electricity would go back on and made a mental note to buy a generator for the building. Leroy could be in charge of running it for a reduction in rent, he figured. No reason to let the tenants go without heat in the winter should there be another blackout, picturing a shivering Belle huddling underneath a blanket trying to keep warm. Yes, he'd have one set up tomorrow before he opened for the day.

The hallway was pitch black, save for the emergency light at the end of the hallway, and his nerves was nearly insurmountable, but he'd promised himself that he would tell Belle the truth. She deserved to know. He'd lay everything down at her feet and hope that she would be forgiving. Maybe, in time, she would let him see her again. He didn't delude himself that he could ever resume his role as almost-lover, but he would be content with her friendship. He would have to be. He didn't know what he'd do if Belle kicked him out of her life entirely. Time would tell, he thought as he raised a trembling hand, feeling for the door before knocking softly.

Belle opened the door, peeking around the edge before throwing it wide with a surprised and delighted smile. “Andrew! I didn't think you'd be able to make it! Come in.” She took his hand and stepped back, drawing him in to her living room, which was lit by a dozen candles scattered about the living room. It gave the room a soft, warm glow. There weren't enough to light the room entirely, but it felt cozy. The apartment smelled of cinnamon and he remembered that she had been baking that evening.

“The power just went out,” she told him, taking his coat from him and hanging it on a hook. “Fortunately, I'd already started digging out my candles. You just missed Dove.”

He looked up, distracted for a moment by Rocky winding his way between his legs. The kitten probably sensed his overwhelming guilt and was trying to kill him by tripping him as he walked. “Hmm? Oh, no I saw him leave.”

She look pleased at that. “Good. I hope he made it home safely.”

Gold made a noncommittal noise. Dove was the last thing on his mind, but he was sure the man was perfectly fine.

“Here, have a seat,” Belle said, plopping down on her sofa and patting the cushion next to her.

He sat down gingerly, setting his cane to the side. He was all raw nerves and thinking about how to start when the cat jumped up on his lap and started aggressively purring, flicking the tip of his tail against his nose until he sputtered.

Belle giggled a bit, taking Rocky away and setting him down on a pillow she kept reserved solely for the cat. “Sorry. I had him locked up in my bedroom while Dove was here. He's a bit antsy.”

Gold brushed a stray hair off his nose. “It's fine. I don't blame him.”

Belle sat there smiling warmly at him and he wanted to be able to return it, but he knew the tight smile he gave in return didn't quite cut it. He cleared his throat nervously, looking down at the sharp creases in his pants, blowing out a breath. He felt the cushion dip as she scooted closer, curling her legs up on the couch comfortably.

“Is everything okay,” she asked, reaching up to push his hair off his face, scratching him softly with her nails.

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes briefly and losing himself in the sensation of her hand against his skin. He slowly opened his eyes and looked back at her, noticing that the blue of eyes seemed a lot darker than they usually did. Must be the candlelight, he thought. It does funny things sometimes.

“I, um, I actually came here to talk to you about something important.”

She smiled sweetly and inched closer. “And what's that?”

He licked his lips, watching her watch him and the way her tongue darted out mimicking him. He wondered if it would be a shitty thing to do if he were to give her a kiss before he said anything. Just one kiss. It couldn't do any more harm could it? And he'd have that one little thing to take with him forever. She was just so close he could feel her breath on his cheek and he wanted it so badly.

He leaned in hesitantly, making sure Belle wasn't going to push him away before softly brushing his lips against hers. This was the best worst idea he'd ever had. Belle tasted like cinnamon and vanilla and something so deliciously enticing that he forgot himself entirely, slanting his mouth over hers, laving her bottom lip until she whimpered.

He pulled back, leaning his forehead against hers as he caught his breath. “It's just, I have something to tell you,” he told her, hoarsely.

He could feel her smile as she murmured, “I have something to tell you, too.”

He blinked at that. He didn't think she was keeping a secret either, but then, that was the point of secrets wasn't it? “What is it?”

She turned his face with the touch of a finger and brought her lips to his ear, whispering, “I want you to kiss me again.”

Oh. _Fuck_.

He turned his head and, with a low moan, caught her lips with his. She immediately pressed herself against him, holding him steady as she climbed right in his lap, straddling him with a knee on either side of his hips and he understood, now, that was the real reason why she got rid of the cat. It had taken her spot.

He could do it, Gold thought as she placed a warm hand against the back of his neck, drawing him closer, deepening the kiss. He could change his name, leave town, packing Belle up and take her where ever she wanted to go. She'd never have to know who he really was. It would be wonderful. Almost as wonderful as the feeling of her tongue sliding against his and the way she still when she first came into contact with his erection then ground down against him with a whimpering moan that sent a shiver down his spine.

He clutched at her hips wanting to pull her closer and rub himself against her like a teenage boy in his first flush of youth, but he also needed to pull away. He was getting carried away, things were going too far too fast, and when she reached for the knot of his tie, beginning to tug it loose, he pulled away, gasping for air as he looked up at her with wild eyes. Belle smiled at him, her hair was haloed in the soft candlelight, shining in the darkened room like a vision.

She bent down trying to reach his lips again but he turned his head to the side and she stopped short looking at him in dismay. She was panting as well and his eyes were immediately drawn to the way her swollen lips were parted as she tried to catch her breath.

“I can't do this,” he said, closing his eyes tightly and giving his head a shake.

“Andrew?” She sat back on his knees, losing contact with his erection, allowing him to put more than one thought together, and he opened his eyes again despite the tears he felt welling up.

“Belle, I'm sorry. I can't.”

She blinked at him, mouth opening and closing as she tried to grasp what he meant. He lifted a shaking hand, touching her soft cheek with the tips of his fingers.

“I'm so sorry, Belle. But I have to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” she asked in a small, unsteady voice. “Are you... are you dying?”

What? “No. Nothing like that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you married?”

What had she been reading in her spare time? “No. I'm not married.” Not any more.

“So if you're not dying and you're not married, then why can't you—”

“Belle, I'm Mr. Gold,” he blurted out.

She recoiled in shock, holding him at arms' length. “What?”

“I am Mr. Gold,” he repeated, slowly, knowing that these were probably the last words he'd ever say to her.

“Mr. _Gold_?” she said, incredulously, her face scrunched up in confusion. “ _You_? This whole time?”

“My entire life,” he said not quite managing a crooked smile.

She scrambled off his lap and stood before him, aghast. “I don't understand. Why haven't you said anything before? You knew I was trying to—” she swallowed heavily. “You _knew_.”

“I did,” he said quietly, ashamed now that it was out in the open. “I didn't mean to lie to you.”

She snorted. “Intent is _meaningless_. You had ample opportunity to tell me. Why keep it a secret from me? Did you think I wouldn't like you?”

“At first, yes. And then—”

She wrapped her arms around herself and waited for him to finish and he struggled to come up with the right words until he realized — there were no right words.

“I liked being _liked_. Without being Mr. Gold.”

“I would have _liked_ Mr. Gold if you had told me the truth at the beginning. You could have trusted me.”

“I'm not used to that. I'm not used to people wanting to be around me without...” Payment. “Wanting something,” he said, carefully.

“Well, that's your fault for being a grump.” She'd begun pacing now.

“I'm not just a grump. You've heard the talk about me. You even asked me about it the night we met.”

She whirled on him. “You mean like how you kicked that girl Ashley out of her place because they were a day late on their rent?”

“Do you honestly think I would kick a baby out onto the streets?”

“Andrew wouldn't, but I don't know who Mr. Gold is and everyone says yes, he would.”

“Ashley wasn't just one day late on her rent, she was three months overdue. I gave her three months to figure it out and come up with the money, and she was still short.”

“And _then_ you kicked her out?”

“Of course not! I found her a smaller, more affordable apartment. And she is making payments on the overdue amount.”

She spread her hands wide. “How come no one knows of this?”

“Because I don't discuss other people's business because it's private and privileged information,” he said with some exasperation, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn't even have told you about. Would you want people to know the details of your rental agreement and if you pay up on time and what arrangement I made if you couldn't?”

“I've obviously been getting special privileges because I've been secretly dating the landlord,” she spat out, exasperated with him.

That stopped him up short. “Dating?” he asked, hoping against hope despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. “I-is that how you saw us?”

She looked like he'd slapped her. Her eyes watered, threatening to spill over as she gaped at him. “I thought... I mean— I guess I was wrong about a lot of things,” she said, with a rueful twist of her lips, looking up as if trying to keep tears from falling. “I think it's best if you leave now.”

“Belle—”

“Please,” she said quietly. “Just go.”

He nodded quickly, swallowing hard and stood up, using his cane for support. He walked to the door before pausing. He'd made another promise. “One thing, Belle, and then I'll go. About Dove.”

She looked at him resentfully.

He opened his mouth, paused, then spoke, not really knowing what to say. “He does what I tell him to do no questions asked.”

“You told him to lie to me?” She looked like she was ready to slap his face and he hurried to set her mind at ease.

“I... made it clear that I would tell you on my own time and that it was not his business. Dove's a... sensitive soul. He feels bad enough about the whole thing. Don't be too angry at him.”

She nodded her head minutely. “You need to leave now.”

His chest hurt and he wondered if this was what heartbreak felt like. He deserved it, he knew that, but it hurt anyway. “Goodbye, Belle.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Gold,” she said and he winced at the finality of it.

He let himself out and closed the door behind him. The hallway was still dark. He used his cane to feel his way to the stairway then slowly limped down the flights of stairs. Part of him took his time hoping that Belle would have a change of heart and call him back so they could discuss things further, but he knew that he'd hurt her irrevocably and, if they were to mend things between them, he had to give her space. He'd reached the ground floor, noting in dismay that that storm was still well underway and the temperature had dropped when he realized he'd left his overcoat in Belle's apartment. And the necklace he'd placed in its pocket.

He could make his way back upstairs and retrieve it, or he could head home, lick his wounds and drink himself into a coma. Well, he'd meant to give her the necklace anyway. She could keep the coat, too.

Fuck it, his car was right out front. Mr. Gold flipped his jacket collar up to shield his neck and pushed open the door, walking out into the storm.

 

 

 

 


	7. The Day After

Belle sniffled as she angrily stamped the tall stack of returned library books. She'd put it off for days in her euphoria over Andrew and, now that reality and Mr. Gold had caught up to her, it was time to get to work.

The morning had been quiet so far, something she was profoundly grateful for since she didn't feel like making excuses for her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy complexion. She’d cried herself to sleep last night, curled up around Rocky, miserable with her ruined hopes lying in tatters and feeling gutted. She’d begun to truly love Andrew, had thought he felt the same way but was just being gun shy. She thought that he was respectful and sweet and a bit goofy. Turned out the man was a complete bastard, probably laughing at her right now while she wallowed in self pity.

She supposed she could always claim illness if anyone asked. It certainly sounded better than confessing that she was the dupe of Mr. Gold. The butt of a cruel practical joke that served no purpose other than to humiliate and hurt her. He really was as dark as people said.

Darker. Messing around with people's hearts like that? It wasn't right.

Well, she would get over it, she thought as she worked. And she would be wiser. She always trusted too easily, but she was usually so good at spotting the fakers. She must have been blinded by the fantasy to see the truth. It was disheartening to say the least. Now she lost her two best friends, one of them—

Was walking into her library right now.

Belle scowled as Dove quietly opened the door and poked his head through.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"The library is public property," she said, bitterly. In any other job in the nation she could mention that loitering was prohibited, but, in a library, it was encouraged.

Maybe a new job. In meat processing plant.

Dove slid the rest of the way into the building, looking contrite and holding a small gift bag. “I thought I’d see how you were? And to apologize.”

“You know he told me the truth then? That Andrew is Mr. Gold?” she said as she pounded the date stamp in another book, not looking up. “Does he have some sort of routine that he pulls with every new tenant? Two months and it’s time to tell the gullible woman the truth? Was there a bet?”

“No, nothing like that,” he said, mildly. “I met Mr. Gold coming into your building last night. He said he was done hiding. And you’re the, uh, the first.” He placed the bag on the desk.

Belle glanced up at it then back down at her desk. “If that’s a bribe from An— Mr. Gold then I don’t want it.”

“It’s from me and the caramels are from Doug. I’m very sorry, Belle.”

She stopped her angry stamping and looked at the bag for a moment before taking it and moving the mound of tissue paper aside. Bath bombs? And salted caramels. Well, it was the thought that counted anyway.

“Thank you, Burt,” she said, setting the bag aside. “But you need to understand that I can’t just… forget this any time soon. I feel very used. I can’t explain it, I just...” She placed a hand to her chest. “It hurts. A lot.” She grimaced at him then kept on with her work, stubbornly avoiding his eyes. If she stamped the books harder, then the anguish would go away. She needed some kind of release, but at the moment, there was nothing but work.

Dove stood still with his hands behind his back, watching her closely.

"Do you do everything he tells you to do?" she asked with some resentment. The burning ache was beginning to make way for the anger now and it felt good. Cathartic. She wanted to grab Mr. Gold and shake him until the truth fell out of his lips and, then, maybe kick him in the shins a bit. He already had a cane, he would need it if she knocked his legs out from underneath him. Then maybe he’d get a taste of what it felt like last night when he turned her world upside down.

“Most everything” he said. “They aren’t usually unreasonable.”

“I’m very angry, Burt. Hurt and angry and I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you.” She ran a hand through her hair, agitated. “I mean, I probably will, but I don’t know if I can trust you like I did before and that changes everything. And I’m not sure if I can forgive An— Mr. Gold at all. I feel so betrayed and stupid because what betrayal was there exactly? There was nothing said between us, right? He never outright told me his feelings, I just assumed and you know what they say about people that make assumptions.” She waved her hand in the air futilely before slapping her hand down on the desk. “I just… I don’t understand why. Why the secrecy, Burt? What was he thinking?” She looked up at him, hopefully. Maybe Dove had some insight about this. He knew Andrew for a long time, surely he would be able to help her make sense of his actions.

Dove shrugged. “Mr. Gold doesn’t confide in me, he just gives me his instructions.”

She scowled at him, feeling the tears well up again. “He told you to lie to me?” she asked, hoarsely.

Dove shifted uncomfortably, shaking his head. “He asked me to keep his secret.”

“How is that different?” she asked in exasperation. “You knew he wasn’t being forthright, you could have warned me.”

“The thing is, Belle, Mr. Gold isn’t just my boss. I owe him a great deal.”

“What? Money?”

“No, it goes beyond money. He helped me out during a rough time.” Dove yanked down on his jacket in sharp, short jerks, straightening out his already neat appearance. “He was always going to tell you, I just didn’t think he’d stall this long.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at him. “I see. You guys are like a two man mafia, you know that?”

Dove shrugged as if it was nothing he hadn’t heard before. “Do you want to hit me?”

“What?” she looked at him aghast. “No!” Not Dove. Mr. Gold, yes. Dove, no. Andrew… best not to think of Andrew anymore. Andrew had been replaced with Mr. Gold. “No. I may smash a teacup or two later though.”

He smiled a bit at that then asked her seriously, “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” she muttered, then looked up quickly, heart squeezing tight in her chest. “No, wait." She took a deep, gulpy breath and let it out in a whoosh. "I want you to tell Mr. Gold that he’s to stay away from me. I don’t want to see him. And that I will find accommodations for my illegal cat as soon as possible. And… for myself as well. And if he even thinks of charging me for breaking my lease then he will have another think coming. Got it?”

Dove’s head was bowed, nodding. “Yeah.”

She took a shaky breath. “And I also expect to see you here Thursday night, Burt. Poetry night has nothing to do with us or An— Mr. Gold.”

“Thank you, Belle.” He looked up at her, quickly. “Where are you going to live?”

“I don’t know” she sighed, slumping down in her chair. “Everything seems to be owned by Mr. Gold.” She bit her lip to keep from spouting curses at him.

“Do you need help? I could make inquiries.”

Belle shook her head emphatically. “No.”

“Do you—”

“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want anything from Mr. Gold... except my security deposit.” She twirled the stamp in her fingers, watching it instead of Dove. “I think you should probably go now, Burt. I need some time.”

He nodded. “Call me if you need me. I work for Mr. Gold, but I’m still your friend. And Mr. Gold would do anything for you. You mean a lot to him, I know that much. He doesn’t tell me what he thinks, but what I think is that your openly liking him took him by surprise. I think that he was scared to say anything because people had already started telling you what a monster Mr. Gold was. I think he started falling for you. And I think that’s why he told you the truth.”

Belle looked down at her hands and nodded her head slowly. Dove was probably right, Andrew probably didn’t set out on a personal dare to break her heart, but intent was meaningless when the relationship was built on lies. She would have forgiven him pretty easy if it hadn’t gone on for months, if he’d just mentioned it a few days after they met at least. He’d had ample opportunity to tell her. She would have laughed it off probably, knowing that he was nervous or… or scared. She thought Dove was wrong about his opinion of Andrew’s regard for her though. He seemed surprised that she’d considered them to be more than friends. His hesitation and the open shock on his face told her everything — he liked her enough, just not in the same way. That was her fault for reading too much into it — she felt more than he did, that was clear. And that was fine, it just added to her mortification after throwing herself at him and grinding down onto his lap like she was expecting a tip. It’s just… she could have sworn he reciprocated her feelings, but maybe that was just a natural stimulus response after all was said and done. The whole thing was giving her a headache.

“Belle?”

Dove’s voice broke through her reverie and she looked up at him, startled to see that he was still there.

“Yeah?”

“I mean it,” he said. “If you need anything, you can call me. Or Mr. Gold.”

She gave him a tight smile, appreciating what he was trying to do, fruitless though it was. “Yeah, Burt,” she said, wearily. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

She was lying of course, but what was one more untruth among them? Right now, she would rather set her tongue on fire before asking ether one of them for anything.


	8. Chapter 8

Andrew stood in the shadows of his shop and watched the street before him. Traffic was light, but it was always light in this small town, and he had a clear view to the library across the street.

He had yet to see Belle that morning and wanted to call and see if something was holding her up, but he refrained from doing something so inconsiderate. She’d said she didn’t want to see him again and he took her at her word, keeping as far away as the small town would let him. He'd kept to his previous routine of exiting through the back door of his shop and driving out of his way to prevent her from accidentally seeing him and he steered clear of the usual public spaces one would normally see him . It had worked when he was hiding the fact that he was Mr. Gold and it worked now that the truth was out in the open. The only time he saw her was when she went into and out of the library and he relished those fleeting glimpses.

Maybe it wasn’t exactly right, but he couldn’t deny himself this one thing. He just wanted to make sure she was okay, he told himself. The library was too far away for him to get a good look at her face, and he drew the line at using binoculars, but she seemed well enough.

It had been two weeks since she threw him out of her life and he hated himself for what he had done. The memory of her kisses, of the warm weight of her in his lap, wrapped in his arms and breathing his name haunted him nightly. It was his own fault, he knew. He couldn’t even deflect the blame. He was the author of his own misery. He didn’t deserve her kindness and he certainly didn’t deserve her kisses.

At last, just as he was about to call Dove in a panic, she strode around the corner with her cell phone held up to her ear. He glanced down at his pocket willing it to ring, but whoever she was talking to it certainly wasn’t him. She paused in front of the doors, fishing in her purse with one hand, while talking to whomever it was on the other end of the line. She found her keys and bounced them in her hand once before unlocking the library and disappearing inside.

Well, that would be it until lunchtime, he thought despondently. But he wouldn’t be waiting at the window during lunch — he gave her that much privacy at least, just making sure she arrived safely in the mornings and, after the work day was done, he watched her leave.

Yeah, he was a creep. A hopelessly smitten, lying creep.

He was just about to go into the backroom for the day when movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to look up again. Belle was back on the sidewalk and looking towards the pawnshop with her hands on her hips.

Gold caught his breath and retreated further into the dark corner lest she catch him — but she couldn’t see him, he _knew_ that, just as he knew that she knew that he was there watching her. She stood there for a moment and it seemed as if she was going to cross the street and come to him, but in the end, she hung her head, shaking it slowly, and went back into the library.

What did that mean, he wondered. Was she ready to give him a chance to explain himself? Would she let him back into her life again? Did he have a chance? Did she miss him as much as he missed her? That idea would have seemed preposterous if not for the memory of her climbing into his lap and the way she burned when he held her.

He wanted to run to her, fall down at her feet and beg her forgiveness. His entire body ached and nothing short of being allowed to talk to her again would alleviate it.

He limped into the back room and sat down at his cluttered workbench, but the watch he’d tasked himself to repair couldn’t hold his interest. He threw the tweezers down with a clatter and rubbed at his eyes in irritation. This was pointless. He’d had a chance at something special, something real and he blew it. He pushed back from his workbench and slumped in his chair, looking around at his small empire. What was the point, really, of all of this? The shop, his house, his real estate, his stupid ties if he was, in the end, alone? They meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He looked at his phone resting on the table and thought about calling Belle. She’d understand the restlessness he was feeling. She’d probably tell him he needed to stretch his legs, see the world a bit… live a little.

He longed to pick it up and call her. He wanted to hear her voice, he needed to hear her tell him that he wasn’t a big, lying jerk. That she forgave him. That she…

Gold sighed feeling useless and strangely detached from himself. She would never tell him any of that because he _was_ a big, lying jerk and it would take a miracle for him to earn her forgiveness. Her love was out of the question, her respect thrown out the window, but forgiveness could be achieved if he obeyed her wishes. Maybe.

Maybe some time away would do him some good. Perhaps... perhaps distance is what he needed. He wouldn’t get over Belle, not fully he knew that. It was impossible to get over someone who made him feel so… feel so good about himself. That was it, really. When Belle was around, she made him feel worthwhile. She brought out the goodness in him that he’d thought was long gone. He didn’t expect that. he didn’t think he had it in him any more and when she was near him, it seemed as if every hardship he’d experienced in his life was worth the pain now that Belle was in his life.

He didn’t want to leave, but if he went away for a while, say a few weeks or a month, maybe the ache in his heart would ease. And maybe it would give Belle the space she needed without being afraid of running into him about town.

Gold sat down heavily on the bed he kept in his backroom, turning his phone over and over in his hands before flipping it open and scrolling down to her number (second in her list of contacts behind Dove). His thumb hovered over the call button. There was no good reason to call her. She’d asked for space, but he really needed to hear her voice. His heart ached for her. Maybe she would understand and forgive him this once.

* * *

 

Belle hung up the phone, exasperated with Mr. Smee’s whiny insistence that she pay a fine for breaking her lease. Yes, she’d signed it and, yes, according to the contract she owed a lot of money if she moved out early, but she knew Mr. Gold wouldn’t dare hold her to it. She just had to convince Mr. Smee of that fact, but without word from Gold himself, he refused to budge. Smee seemed to have a panic attack over the phone when she’d informed him she was moving and that she would like her deposit back. She needed that money, but there was no getting it. It was so frustrating.

She could call Dove to talk to Mr. Gold for her, tell him that she needed Mr. Smee to understand that she wasn’t to be held accountable for the money. Or, Belle thought glancing at the phone on her desk. She could call him herself. She was a grown up, she could make a phone call and talk to her landlord, it’s a perfectly normal transaction after all.

She reached for her phone then dismissed the idea altogether. He was just across the street, she’d just go over there, tell him to get off his ass and talk to Smee for her and then... and then they would be done.

Belle stormed out of the library intending on doing just that then came to an abrupt halt once the cool air hit her over-heated skin. No, this wasn’t a good idea, she realized, watching the pawn shop, dark and empty as usual. Gold was a talker, he’d weasel his way back into her heart faster than she could say, “hey.” Then what?

She existed in a plane of hurt feelings and insulted sensibilities. She wanted so much to talk to Andrew, she missed him desperately and it wasn’t until she’d kicked him out of her life that she realized how big a part he’d been in it. How can someone be so important after just two months and yet she knew absolutely nothing about him? If he’d been able to trust her she would have understood his misgivings. She’d heard the way people talked about him in town, they spoke of him the way children spoke of the boogeyman, whispering about him as if he would pop out of the bushes if they said his name three times in a row. He knew it, too. He _knew_ he was hated everywhere he went, she’d even asked him about it the first night they met, that’s why he didn’t tell her his full name.

Belle turned on her heel and walked back into the library, shaking her head. He’d known she would be mad, but he told her anyway before things went too far after she jumped his bones.

Oh! Oh, god. She was going crazy thinking in circles for days. Excusing him one minute and then wanting to strangle him the next. Yes, she got it, he had been afraid of rejection, but after he got to know her, surely he could have told her the truth sooner?

She was getting a headache from thinking about it. She just wanted to stop dwelling on it and move on with her life, either with or without Andrew, she wasn’t entirely sure yet. She was leaning towards with, but, every time she thought about picking up the phone to talk to him, a nagging doubt crept up and smacked her. If he could successfully lie about his identity for weeks then what else could he do? That was the main problem she had. He’d said he wasn’t married, but could she believe anything he said again? That he hadn’t been as serious about her as she was him was made clear that night in her apartment when he asked her if she thought they had been dating. If those weren’t dates, then for God’s sake, what were they?

She slapped on her computer, waiting for the ancient machine to boot up with its shrill whistles and pings. She’d revisit seeing him again in a few days… hours... no, days. She should be okay in a few days.

Her phone rang, sending her heart spiraling into her throat in anticipation, but it was just Mr. Smee telling her that he’d talked to Mr. Gold and that her security deposit was to be refunded in full. He seemed in awe of her, whispering excitedly over the line that he’d never heard of Gold doing such a thing. He probably thought she had magic or a hold over the landlord in some way.

Which she did, she supposed, just not in the way he thought.

She didn’t feel like working. The thought of checking books in and out and reshelving them in order, mundane tasks that normally soothed her, made her itch. She felt dissatisfied with her life now. She’d always dreamed of traveling. Always wanted to go someplace exotic and see the world and here she was stuck in a dusty, backwater town. The idea of being a head librarian, even in such a tiny place seemed like an adventure when she took the job, but now she felt trapped. Maybe she could revisit the idea of traveling again after the holidays.

Rocky took the time she was distracted to make himself known, twining himself around her ankles and she picked him up, cuddling him close. He was getting fatter now that he was getting fed regularly and his coat was soft and shiny and clean. She would take him with her. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to go overseas traveling with her cat, but they could drive across the country. Like Thelma and Louise only with less mayhem and death. They could collect stories as they went and soak up the flavor of life. They could dip their toes in the Gulf and hike up to Pike’s Peak and learn how to ride a horse. She thought Rocky would look dashing on top of a pony. She’d buy him a tiny cowboy hat for the occasion.

She’d draw the line at boots with spurs though.

Her phone rang, once more and, this time, the name on the screen was Andrew’s. She stared at the contact photo she took and the way his eyes were lit up as he smiled softly at her. It was the first time in weeks he’d called and her hand was instantly hovering over the talk button. She wanted to answer, but she didn’t think she was ready to hear his voice yet. She needed time. If it was important he would leave a message.

At last the phone stopped ringing and she waited, holding her breath until her phone beeped indicating that he’d left a voice mail. That was… it was important then. She waited for five minutes then waited another five before she payed the message back, pressing the phone to hear ear with a shaking hand.

“Belle, I, um… it’s…. Andrew. I know you don’t want to hear from me and I promise this will be the last time I call you, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving town for a few weeks and… well, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for… everything. You were right, I should have been upfront from the beginning, I was just— I’m a coward, Belle, and you are so special and...” There was the sound of a deep breath being taken and let out slowly. “I… I’m sorry. If you have any problems at all then let Dove know. He’ll help you if you need it. I, um… I lo— Goodbye, Belle.”

Belle stared at her phone trying to process what she’d just heard. He was _leaving_? But _she_ was leaving. He can’t leave when she was, it wasn’t fair. She dropped the phone on the floor, not minding the sound of the screen shattering and ran out the door. It had only been ten minutes, there was no way he’d left already.

She slammed against the pawn shop door and tried the handle knowing that just because the sign read “closed” didn’t mean he wasn’t in there hiding from her.

Unless he called on his way out of town.

She rapped on the glass. “Andrew?” she yelled through the door. “Andrew Gold, you open this door right now!” She peered into the shop, holding her hands up around her eyes to keep the glare of the sun out, giving the door a kick with her boot for emphasis. “Andrew!”

The heavy curtain parted and Andrew peered out at her, mouth open in shock, before slowly making his way to the door, unlocking it and holding it open with a foot.

“Belle?” he said, hope softening his eyes as he looked at her. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

She stared at him, breathless, wanting to yell at him and kiss him at the same time. Now that he was in front of her there was so much inside her that it felt like she was going to burst from the pressure.

He looked like absolute shit and it was only the knowledge that she felt just as bad as he appeared — and _why_ that was — that kept her from breaking down in front of him.

“Belle?” he said again, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He gave her a grimace that was supposed to have been a smile and nodded his head mutely, moving to close the door again. “Okay. Well, I’m glad to have seen you again. I’ll just—”

Whatever he was going to say was cut off when she grabbed the hair on the sides of his head and pulled him in for a kiss, muffling his words and swallowing them down. He froze, just as he froze on her couch, but as she pushed him back into his shop, he’d recovered enough to wrap his arms around her, his cane falling to the floor with a clatter. She pulled away from his lips and let her eyes wander over his face, the coarse stubble on his cheeks and chin spoke of how little he’d taken care of himself since their breakup, the circles under his eyes showing how little sleep he’d gotten. She brushed his hair back, kissing his face, nearly smacking his forehead with hers as he punctuated each of her kisses with an, “I’m sorry, Belle. I’m so sorry.”

She tugged on his hair again, gently, guiding him to her mouth once more, whimpering when he swept his tongue across her lips, begging for entrance. She missed this. Missed being near him, missed the scent of his skin and his aftershave and the exact color of his eyes when he smiled. There would be forgiveness, she knew as they sank to the dusty floor of his shop, his arms wrapped protectively around her as he cushioned her. Forgiveness and talking and a lot more kissing.

He broke away, resting his forehead on hers, breathing heavily as his eyes wandered over his face, lovingly. “I’m so glad you came,” he said with a half-smile.

“I got your message, Andrew,” she said, pecking him on the cheek as she settled on the floor, tucking her legs underneath her.

He blushed and looked up at the glass unicorn mobile he had hanging over a counter and what kind of parent put _that_ up over their baby’s crib, she mused.

“I see,” he said, finally. “I know you asked me to stop contacting you, but… I knew you’d worry if I just disappeared so…”

“The funny thing is, I had just decided to go on a trip, too,” she said, taking his hand in hers and stroking his fingers. He gazed at her, wonderingly at that, as if he just didn’t have his tongue in her mouth just minutes before and she marveled at how every little bit of contact seemed to put him in awe of her.

“Did you,” he asked, softly. “Where are you going?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You?”

“I… My son. I was going to visit him.”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip and she processed this new information. “You have a son.”

“I do. I-is that a problem?” he asked, worriedly.

“No, of course not. I just didn’t know.”

“He’s, um, at NYU,” he said, the pride in his voice came through despite his nervousness.

“Impressive.” The tie he wore was knotted incorrectly she noticed and she wondered if he even knew. The last time she tried to take his tie off, he’d pushed her away and though she didn’t think that would happen again, she kept her hands away from the silky fabric. “You were coming back though, right?”

“Of course!” he said, indignantly. “Belle—”

“It’s okay,” she said.

“It is?” he asked, doubtfully.

“Well, no, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the past couple of weeks and I think I know why you didn’t come out and tell me you were my landlord. For goodness’s sake, I even asked about Mr. Gold the night we met. How embarrassing it must have been for you.”

“I’m used to it, really. You and Dove are the only ones in town who like me. And I have to pay him to.”

“I don’t _just_ like you, you know.”

“Really?” he asked, awestruck.

She smiled at him, shaking her head, helplessly. “Yeah, really.”

He licked his lips, drawing her attention to his mouth. “I don’t _just_ like you, too,” he murmured as he bent down to kiss her.

“When will you be back?” she asked after they came up for air.

“I was going for a couple of weeks, but I think Neal would kill me if I stayed that long. I can be home in seven days.”

“I’ll be in my new place by then. You can come visit.”

He was quiet and she ducked her head in order to see his face clearly. “Hey,” she said, smiling softly. “That night... you were there to meet me, weren’t you?”

“I have a prepared speech I give all my new tenants,” he admitted with a rueful smile.  
That was why he was there then. She rolled her eyes at him. “And instead you…”

“I gained a friend,” he told her quietly. “I’m glad I did. I’m not glad I didn’t tell you who I was,” he said, quickly, before she could get the wrong impression. “But I’m glad I met you.”

She stroked the hair back from his face, marveling at how much happier he seemed in the last few minutes. She supposed she was happier, too. “I am, too, Andrew.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience. I’m happy to say the story is now finished (though I may revisit with a few one shots later on down the line should any plot bunnies arise). I thoroughly apologize for the fluffy fluff fluffer fluff, but I like happy endings and I like gooeyness so.. *spreads hands* 
> 
> I will probably post a few snippets from this verse in the next day or so that have been up on Tumblr for a while, but were too short to post here. However, they may make this chapter a bit more intelligible for those who don't go on Tumblr.

Belle opened the door to a grinning, bouncing Ariel. “Hey! I’m so glad you could make it” she said, happily, giving her a quick hug. There was a queue of people behind the redhead. It seemed most people had decided to show up at the same time and Belle stepped back quickly to let them in. 

Ariel rolled her eyes at her. “Are you kidding? We never got around to holding one in your last apartment. Happy housewarming,” she said, thrusting the world’s tiniest house plant into Belle’s hands, waving off her laughing “thank you” as she walked in.

Behind her was Leroy, who held aloft a bottle of something wrapped up in a brown paper bag to show he hadn’t come empty handed either, and then David and Mary Margaret, with a couple of large candles in a pretty wicker basket.

She let everyone in, smiling and thanking them for their gifts as they filed by, and at the end of the line, unnoticed by everyone except for Belle, was Andrew, smirking a smug little smile that was practically daring her to kiss it off.

“Happy housewarming,” he told her, leaning over to whisper into her ear. “I got you a gift.”

Belle bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder at her other guests before smacking his arm playfully with the back of her hand. “You were just here an hour ago,” she reminded him, noting how he’d changed from jeans into his usual three-piece suit. His battle armor he’d called it once. “And you got all dolled up.”

He blushed, looking down at his suit. “I wanted to make a good impression,” he confessed with a half smile.

“Well, consider it a success,” she said, brushing her fingers against his hand. “You, um,  you have a gift?” she asked with her lips pursed in a smirk, because he’d already given her a sweet little writing desk a few days prior to her party. The delivery was overseen by Dove and orchestrated with as much fanfare as a fried chicken order at Granny’s. Andrew wouldn’t even talk about it, he just smiled a tiny, shy smile and changed the subject to something else. Belle had been dying to know what he was thinking when he chose to give it to her and now he was bearing more gifts? She was going to have to give him a stern lecture when they were alone again.

Andrew looked abashed as she raised her eyebrows at him.

“Ah. Yes. Well, it’s not for you. It’s for Rocky.”

“Another one?” she asked, exasperated, because as much as he tried to bestow presents upon her, he was shamefully liberal with her cat. She narrowed her eyes at him as she reached into the bag, pulling out a small felt book stuffed with catnip. The title on the cover read “Jane Eyre.”

“Where did you even find this?” she asked, amused in spite of herself as she turned it over in her hands.

“There’s this site called Etsy,” he told her, matter-of-factly. “There’s a squeaker inside.”  

“Andrew, you are spoiling him,” she said as she put the toy back in the bag. “Go on in and mingle. I’m going to put everything in the kitchen.” 

Belle kicked the door shut behind him and nodded toward the living room with her chin. Andrew hesitated, giving her a tight, anxious smile before the mask he wore around the rest of the town fell over his face. She hadn’t had much experience watching Andrew interact with people other than herself and Dove and the transformation from Andrew to Mr. Gold was startling. She didn’t like it though she better understood why he wore it than she had before.

She walked behind him, noticing how the conversation died down when they noticed Andrew and she felt sorry for it, but it was about time the town got used to Andrew and needed to learn how to get along with her friends.

 

* * *

 

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened and her lips pursed as she clutched at David’s arm at Andrew’s mild greeting. David stuttered out a response, clearly confused as to why the town’s landlord and resident jerk was in Belle’s apartment to begin with. He glanced at Leroy, trying to telepathically convey with his eyes that maybe they should give him the old heave-ho out the door because there was no conceivable way Mr. Gold had been invited, but Leroy, whose note was due on his boat the following week, just shook his head and looked away, stuffing a handful of chips and crab dip into his mouth to keep from saying something offensive.

The music playing softly in the background (something about Budapest?) barely covered the sounds of uncomfortably cleared throats as Belle’s guests stared at Mr. Gold, waiting for him to raise their rent on a whim.

David was the first to break the silence as Ariel slid against the wall, slipping into the kitchen while Gold’s attention was drawn away.

Andrew knew it was awkward and he’d offered to stay home during her party knowing that no one would be able to enjoy themselves while he was there, but she had insisted and given him this look complete with a pout that he’d given in against his better judgement. It seems his predictions were correct after all because everyone was staring at him in silence. He felt bad for Belle, wanting her first party in her new apartment to be a success, but he had warned her so there was little else he could do.

David, the only brave one in the room it seemed, spoke up as one of his other tenants scooted off into the kitchen, no doubt to warn Belle of his presence. He looked down at his cane, shaking his head. If only they knew that he’d spent the night in that very apartment and had only left to put fresh clothes on for the party. They’d be horrified.

“So, you know Belle?” David asked, meekly.

“Yes, I do,” Gold said, cheerfully. “She had been a tenant, but we decided it would be best for our relationship if she had other accommodations.”

That was, of course, a very liberal interpretation of the events of the three months since Belle had come to town, but it was close enough and he waited for the full meaning to come to David, enjoying the dawning of realization commingled with the look of distaste on the other man’s face. It looked like he had just sucked on a particularly sour lemon.

They had discussed keeping their relationship private, more for her sake than anything, but Belle felt no shame in being with him, so he felt no qualms about dropping that tidbit before his unsuspecting audience.

“That's _Andrew_?” Ariel’s voice shrilly called out from the kitchen, making everyone jump then look at him with even more suspicion.

And, it seemed that Belle thought it was time to come clean as well. Good. He bit down on the smug grin that wanted to break free. These were his tenants, yes, but they were Belle’s friends — they were important to her and he’d treated her abysmally in the past. They had every right to judge him even if he didn’t like it. He poured himself a drink, showing them that he was very much at home. A caveman move maybe, but effective.

“Whoa, wait. _He's_ your research partner?”

Well, that was unexpected, he thought, turning his head slightly towards the kitchen where Ariel was arguing fiercely with his girlfriend.

David looked at him again. “Research?”  he asked, grasping onto that tidbit of information like a lifeline.

He shrugged, just as mystified as the rest of them. He’d never done any research with Belle. They must have been speaking in code. A twinge of an idea was brewing in his mind as to what it might mean, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions without speaking to Belle first.

“I _like_ doing research with him, Ariel. He's good at it,” Belle said over her shoulder as she came out of the kitchen to find everyone’s eyes on her.

Andrew had never seen her blush quite so much before and he was dying to ask her about it. Later. After everyone had left and it was just the two of them again.

Belle came over to him, taking his hand in hers and, with that simple gesture of acceptance, everything was okay again in the room.

Except...

Ariel stomped up to him, glaring at him as if all the fire in all the universe was concentrated in her body and she was about to lightning bolt his hide.

"I am so angry with you," she began. "You are on probation, Mr. Gold, and if I ever have Belle sobbing on my doorstep because of you I will take my fish scaler and carve off your face do you understand me?”

He gaped — he fully admitted it to himself — because no one in this town, with the sole exception of Belle, had ever stood up to him before and here was this strange person threatening him with bodily harm. Granted, he agreed with her, which is why he didn’t even consider tossing her out on the street at the end of the month.

“I understand you perfectly, Miss Fisher,” he said as affably as he could manage under the circumstances. “What’s more, I’ll gladly let you if I ever cause Belle any more pain.”

“That’s pretty vague,” Belle told him, softly, when Ariel had stomped away to pour herself a glass of wine. “You may want to qualify that or else the next time I get a paper cut from one of your books she’ll take away your beautiful face.”

He sputtered, aware that people were finally beginning to pick up their conversations again, though most kept one eye on him just in case. “I change my mind,” he said, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. “I’m taking back the desk and I’m buying you glasses.”

“I can see perfectly well, thank you. And I like your face,” she told him with a suggestive smirk, standing up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “I especially like sitting on it.”

The sound of her tinkling laughter as he sputtered over his drink was music to his ears, though he’d wished they were alone again so she could give him an exact demonstration of what she meant. Belle’s friends were fine in small doses, but he was sick of them and he wanted to give Belle a thorough demonstration of all the things she liked best.

“Are you teasing me in front of all your friends,” he asked, both astonished and heavily turned on.

“Maybe,” she said, with a playful smile then nodded her head a bit. “ _Definitely_. I’m, um, conducting a little experiment,” she told him, bumping his arm with hers.

Experiment.

“Wait. What’s this about research,” he asked when his brain caught up to current events and he was certain that his threatening erection was covered by his jacket. Thank god he’d changed out of his jeans.

Belle stared at him guiltily. “Um…” she began, but whatever it was she was going to  tell him was cut off by a knock at the door. “Excuse me,” she said, quickly and hurried off to answer it.

She opened the door to reveal Dove bashfully standing with his roommate, Doug. Ah, good. Now he would have an ally in this room full of hostiles.

Andrew nodded to his employee and watched, annoyed, as the conversation came to a halt once more now that Gold’s muscle was there, but they were more used to Dove than they were with him, so the room picked back up again before long.

“Mr. Gold,” Dove said, standing near enough to keep people from attacking. It was their standard positioning, but Andrew felt bad about it. For one, Dove was off duty and for another, well, it seemed wrong to bring their working dynamic into Belle’s home.

“You can call me Andrew,” he told him, much to both of their surprise. “At least when we’re not working,” he amended.

“That’s…” 

“Long overdue,” Andrew agreed, smirking a bit as he watched Belle open Dove’s gift. He couldn’t make out what it was so he turned to the man with a questioning look.

“Sailor Moon box set,” Dove explained. “Belle said she’d never seen it before so I told her I’d loan her mine for research. But I bought her a copy,” he said, sheepishly.

They both turned at the sound of Ariel, doubled over in uncontrollable coughing.

“You okay, Miss,” Dove asked, politely.

Ariel waved them off shaking her head at them before Doug came to her rescue with a glass of water, muttering something about chewing her food better.

The night went on smoothly after that. Andrew didn’t even feel the need to issue so much as a threat to anyone and Doug had managed to snag Belle’s crab dip recipe after a devious amount of subtle questioning. (“I would have just given it to him outright, if he’d just asked,” Belle said later.) Mary Margaret had managed to look her landlord in the eye without fainting and Leroy had gone so far as to speak to him intelligently about a subject Gold knew nothing about. It was interesting and he’d enjoyed himself, even with Ariel watching his every move, but he supposed he’d earned her distrust, not that he minded. It was Belle’s regard he coveted and Belle’s opinion that mattered. No one else in the world came close.

Later, after everyone had left and Rocky had been set free from the bedroom and they stood in a comfortable and easy silence as they did the dishes, Belle looked up at him, blue eyes sleepy from the party and the wine.

She was so lovely. He knew he was lucky to be allowed this special time with her - for however long that may be. That he didn’t deserve it in the slightest, but he also knew he would rip out his own heart rather than hurt her again.

He wanted to kiss her and so he did, lightly brushing his lips against hers and breathing in her sigh of contentment. Then he found that one kiss wasn’t enough by far so he flipped his drying towel over his shoulder and pulled her to him, running a hand through her hair and tilting her face up so he could keep on kissing her until her knees shook.

“This is much better,” he murmured against her neck, breathing in her scent, heady and floral and Belle and he was hit with a strong, overwhelming feeling that he didn’t know what to do with. His heart was full of Belle and he never wanted to let her go again.

“Mmm,” Belle agreed, tipping her head to the side to give him better access, tickling his nose with her hair.

That feeling in his heart swelled again, full to bursting and there was nothing for it but to do as Belle had demanded of him once and tell the truth. “I've been keeping a secret from yo—”

“Andrew,” she began, beginning to pull away.

He held her close, touching her forehead with his. “And I suspect you already know about it because you know me better than anyone.”

Her eyes were blue and watery as she looked at him, so close that they shared the same air as she let out a shaky breath. “What are you saying, Andrew?”

“Just that I love you,” he said, quietly. “I didn’t want to go one more second without telling you.”

“What?” she whispered, awed.

“Exactly what I said. I lo—mmmph.”

His vow of adoration was cut short by finding Belle’s mouth pressed against his in a fierce kiss that would leave his lips bruised in the morning, but he would gladly walk around Storybrooke with swollen lips if it meant that Belle loved him back.

She pulled away with a groan, gasping, eyes shining. “You!” She huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he began, but she placed a finger to his lips, effectively silencing him.

“I will never, ever love anyone as much as I love you, Andrew Gold. I can’t—” she broke off, holding her hand to her heart. “It feels like something I can touch,” she said. “Right here, whenever I think of you. My heart feels so—” she broke off into a tinny sounding laugh.

He nodded. “Yes. That’s… That’s what I feel, too.”

She laughed again, clearly relieved. “Oh good. I thought I was going mad because of it. I've never felt like this before."

“Well,” he said. “If you’re mad then so am I and that’s perfect because we can be mad together.”

“Together,” she agreed, bringing him in for another sweet kiss as Rocky chose that moment to twine himself between their legs.

"Just the three of us," Andrew said, gently scooting the cat away with his foot before picking Belle up and setting her on the counter in front of him, leaning in to capture her lips with his.

  



	10. Outtakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A TMI Tuesday ask that need to be archived here. Nothing you haven't already seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prissyhalliwell asked: Question for The Tenant! Dove: You seem like you've been with Mr. Gold for quite a while. When and how did you start working for him in the first place?

“You are either very stupid or very brave.”

Dove froze in his tracks. He’d just been caught stealing from the town’s most feared businessman and he felt his stomach drop as the reality of his situation hit him.

“Hands up, Dearie,” Mr. Gold said, clearly enjoying the power he wielded even if there was a frightening undertone of wrath in his voice. “And turn around slowly.”

Dove did as he was told, the dainty necklace dangling from his guilty hand spotlighted in the beam of moonlight that shone through the dusty window. He straightened his shoulders a bit in an act of defiance, but kept his face deliberately neutral. Well, as neutral as could be when faced with a man pointing a pistol at him.

“I’m within my rights to shoot you,” he said. “Caught in the act of breaking and entering, burglary, and your hands are full of my diamonds.” His eyes flitted to Dove’s outstretched hand before zeroing in on Dove again. “But that’s messy and there would be questions.”

The vice-like grip that had squeezed his lungs loosened somewhat and Dove let out a breath of relief. He wasn’t in the clear, but he wasn’t going to get shot. Yet. He licked his lips nervously and waited for Mr. Gold to decide his fate.

“I should call the police, but that also invites questions into things I prefer to keep private. Do you understand me?”

Dove nodded. “Yes, sir.” Gold’s reluctance to go through official channels was well-known. It was one of the reasons people went to him for help and it was also the reason why those same people feared him in the end.

Gold smiled. It was cold and sharp as a shark’s grin, the gold tooth mocked him with its unnecessary display of wealth. He tucked the gun into his pocket, safely within reach, but no longer an immediate threat.   
  


“Now, dearie, you’ll tell me your name and what you were planning to do with that bauble in your meaty paws. You couldn’t sell it in town and you wouldn’t be able to pawn it elsewhere – not legally anyway. What did you expect to happen?”

Dove slowly lowered his hands, placing the necklace on the glass counter before answering. “I was going to take it to Brunswick,” he said.

“Ah. Is there a fence in Brunswick then?”

Dove nodded.

“And then what? Did you get someone pregnant?”

“My sister,” he mumbled.

Gold looked at him in disgust and confusion. “You got your sister _pregnant_?”

“What? No! She’s… sick.”

“Aye, that’s a common enough excuse.”

“It’s true.”

Gold nodded absently. “I don’t doubt it, dearie. It’s a common enough excuse because it’s a common enough occurrence. So you were going to fence the necklace and pay for dear sissy’s hospital stay?”

“Something like that.”

“You wouldn’t get enough for the necklace to pay for anything more than a routine mole removal.”

Dove shrugged and looked down at his shoes.

Gold’s eyes flitted to his hands. “Your knuckles are bruised. Did you happen to get in a fight?”

Dove nodded.

“This have to do with your sister?”

He nodded again.

Gold sighed in exasperation. “I can’t help you if you keep secrets from me, Dearie. I can call the police or you can tell me the truth. Now, what’ll it be?”

Dove broke down and told him everything. His sister was in a bad relationship with a controlling boyfriend who liked to use his fists too much. She finally had enough and Dove was determined to help her disappear.

“Noble of you,” Mr. Gold said, not showing any more emotion than if Dove had told him the weather had shifted. “So your sister isn’t in the hospital then?”

“No, sir. She’s banged up, but she says she’s fine.”

“And her ex-boyfriend?”

“He’ll be needing to see the dentist, sir,” Dove said with a certain amount of pride.

“You don’t seem to be afraid of retaliation.”

Dove shrugged again. “Who’s gonna mess with me?”

And there Gold did smile fully sending a jolt of liquid fear through Dove’s veins. “You make an excellent point Mr…”

“Dove,” he replied with some reluctance.

“Mr. Dove.” Gold’s voice swept over the word as if he now owned it and, Dove supposed, he did. “Do you have a criminal record? Ever been in trouble with the law before?”

“No, sir.”

“Then how about a deal?”

Dove looked up in confusion.

“I happen to be in need of your particular services. You have a skill set that would come in handy, especially when I have to deal with people who are reluctant to fulfill their contracts. Do you understand me?”

“I think so,” Dove said. “You need muscle.”

Gold lifted an eyebrow. “That’s a succinct way to put it. I’m glad you’re not stupid.”

“And in return you won’t call the police?” Dove clarified.

“I’ll go even farther. I’m not a cold man despite what you hear of me. If you work for me, you’ll be doing things that are legally questionable. But in return I will pay for your sister’s new life. Enough money to get her out of town and in a new place where she won’t have to look over her shoulder every day, plus some to tide her over until she gets a good job. She can even keep the necklace. You’ll also be well paid for your… _loyalties_ and you’ll enjoy a certain amount of respect in the town. You may not gain many friends, but who needs friends when you can have power?” Gold’s smile was thin.

Dove wasn’t convinced that was correct, but the man did have a point. And if he was willing to bankroll his sister’s escape then he wasn’t going to quibble over the details.

“Do we have a deal?” Gold asked.

Dove looked him in the eyes, considering his options. “Yes, sir. We do.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Dove-centered outtake that comes after Chapter 5.

Dove wearily unlocked his door and shut it quietly behind him just in case his roommate was asleep. His day had been a bit more stressful than normal and all he wanted to do was unwind a bit with a beer and a bath and then pass out for ten hours straight.

“Hey, Burt. Your sister called earlier,” his roommate called out from the kitchen. “And there’s a package for you on the table.”

“What did she say,” Dove asked as he wandered over to the dining area and picked up the box waiting for him. He smiled to himself, pleased that his evening was going to be a lot nicer than his day at least.

“Said that Andy had a concert next Tuesday and if we wanted to come.” Doug had wandered over with  a cup of tea in his hand and leaned on the doorframe. “Everything go okay today?”

Dove nodded to himself, mentally rearranging his schedule so he could attend his nephew’s thing. He played the clarinet in the fifth grade orchestra and it was absolutely hideous, but he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He though Gold would give him a few days off given how he’d gone above and beyond his usual duties the past month. There would be more work for him when he got back, but there wasn’t much to standing around looking mean while Gold made his threats.

He thought about Belle and wondered if she would like to go, but nixed that idea immediately. His sister would think it odd if he brought a stranger to her son’s concert and he didn’t want to have to answer any interesting questions.  

He glanced up at Doug. “You up for a drive next week?”

“I already called in at the hospital. Your sister likes me better, she only asked about you as an afterthought,” he teased.

Dove smiled. That was probably true. He didn’t mind. He didn’t have a lot of friends, but those he did have were important to him and he liked it when they all got along even if they got along better than they did with him. He was a lot like Mr. Gold in that way.

“I’m gonna go relax,” he said, scooping up the box under his arm.

Doug moved over to let him by, but not before giving him a peck on the cheek as he passed. “There’s lasagna waiting if you’re hungry.”

“That sounds good,” Dove said. “Oh, Belle made cookies.” He handed the container over to his roommate. “And she made me this,” he said, showing off the cover of his new notebook. He set it on the table for later.

“Oh, I like her already!” he said, taking the cookies and diving in. “Mmmmmm…. Snickerdoodles are my favorite. I still have to meet her, you know,” he called out after Dove who was already walking away.

“She’d love you,” Dove said over his shoulder as he entered the bathroom. He shut the door quietly and took a deep sigh of relief. He loved his roommate, but after five years the man still didn’t understand that when he came home after Rent Day he didn’t want to talk. Good thing his order had arrived.

He plugged the tub and turned the faucet on as hot as it would allow then used a pen to rip open the seal on the box. He stared at the contents deciding between an Ickle Baby Bot or the Twilight. In the end he decided to treat himself and chose a Sakura bath bomb and tossed it into the water and watched it swirl, enjoying the way it fizzed.

He quickly stripped off his clothes and stepped gingerly into the tub, lowering himself into the hot water with a sigh, blessing whoever invented online ordering, Lush, and bath bombs.

The tub was comically small and his knees stuck out of the water in a ridiculous manner, but Dove didn’t mind. He could feel the aromatic scent lifting away the stress of the day and putting him in a better mood already. Soon Doug would probably pop in with a cold beer in hand and sit on the edge of the tub nattering on about something he didn’t care much about, but, in the meantime, he had solitude and quiet. He put away all thoughts of his roommate, Belle and Gold, his job, and even his sister.  He began to compose a poem for next Thursday’s poetry reading at the library.

Five minutes later the power went out.

“Ah, hell.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of missing scenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna-bang-some-aliens asked: Tenant!Belle: So, you mentioned visits to the Rabbit Hole. Does Ariel (or anyone else) know the story? About what went down? Did they know about 'Andrew' before shit went sideways?

**Five weeks ago:**

“Belle!” Ariel called out, leaning dangerously over the railing.

Belle looked up with a smile. “Hey, Ariel! Are you jumping down or shall I come up?”

Ariel tsked but pulled back, waiting for her friend to climb the stairs.. “You were coming up anyway,” she said once Belle made her way to the second floor.

“Very true. What’s up?”

“We are! I wanted to ask you if you have plans for Thursday night?”

“No- Oh, wait, yes, I do. I promised to help Andrew with some research. Is it important?”

Ariel blinked, then slowly smiled, knowingly. “Who’s Andrew?”

“He’s a friend,” Belle said, smiling back.

“Uh _huh_. And you’re doing research or… _research_?”

“We’re doing research,” she insisted.

“What kind of _research_ do you do anyway?”

“Ariel!” She sputtered. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh _huh_. Who is this guy? This _researcher_?”

“You’ve probably seen him around,” Belle said. “He’s a great dresser, killer smile, amazing eyes,” she added and if she sounded dreamy, then she chose to ignore it. “He’s very thoughtful and sweet.”

Ariel chuckled at her. “Yes, he’s just a friend. I can see that plain as day.”

Belle smirked, trying not to giggle like a thirteen year-old with a crush. “Well, I will say that I wouldn’t say no if he wanted to do a little _research_ ,” she said with a wink before heading up to her own apartment. “Call me,” she said over her shoulder.

“You know I will! And keep Monday open will you?”

“Sure thing!”

**Three nights ago:**

“He’s a rat bastard turd of a skunk monkey,” Ariel said, her arm draped over Belle’s shoulders.

Belle nodded, her hand wrapped around her third beer of the night. She wasn’t drunk, not yet, but she was beginning to feel a nice buzz, which was eons better than the ache she had been feeling ever since she’d kicked Andrew — Mr. Gold — out of her apartment.

“He doesn’t deserve you. I bet he was a terrible researcher, too,” she said, nudging her friend with her elbow.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, sorrowfully. “We never got around to researching.”

“Never?” Ariel asked, surprised.

Belle shook her head. “No.”

“Well, I bet he sucked at it.”

Belle laughed a bit because it seemed expected, but it sounded empty to her ears. The thing was, she would very much liked to have conducted a few experiments with the man. She supposed it was better that things had never progressed that far, but at the same time…

“I should go over there and get some research done. He owes me that much.”

Ariel cocked her head. “What?”

“Andrew,” Belle said. “He owes me some research. I spent weeks, Ariel, _weeks_ pining after that man and now I have nothing to show for it. Not even orgasms that didn’t come from my own hand. It’s never as much fun when you’re researching by yourself,” she said, slumping over onto her friend.

Ariel took the beer from her and slid it over to the side. “Belle, honey, I’m all for a woman taking charge of her own research projects, but trust me, going over there when you’re upset and drunk—”

“I’m not drunk. I’m _pissed_.”

Ariel raised an eyebrow.

“As in angry,” Belle clarified.

“Still,” Ariel continued. “It would be a bad idea. You would regret it and hate yourself in the morning when you should be hating him instead.”

Belle sighed heavily. “Yeah. You’re right. Still… I have a feeling it would have been amazing.”

“There will be more research partners,” Ariel said, patting her on the shoulder and sliding her beer back within reach. “Just give it some time.”

Belle picked it up and took a gulp. “Yeah. I suppose.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fixing the plotholes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna-bang-some-aliens asked: May I ask a TMI Tuesday question that's been stuck in my head for a while? Concerning Tenant!Verse, what the hell ever happened with Gold's coat (and the necklace, but mostly the coat)? Seriously, it's been bugging the crap outta me. Have you mentioned it and I missed it? Was it file 13'd? Is it now lining Rocky's kitty bed? Did Gold ever get a new coat, or is he just cold all the time? Was it given to Dove when he picked up the rent? I need to know. Please

**1.**

“Here,” Belle said, shoving a lumpy garbage bag into Dove’s hands. “Make sure Mr. Gold gets that.”

Dove took it from her automatically. “What is it?” he asked despite himself. He wouldn’t just hand his boss trash no matter how much Belle hated them.

She shrugged, nonchalantly before turning away to straighten up an already neat pile of flyers. “He left his overcoat the other night. He might want it back.”

Dove opened the bag and peered in. Sure enough, it was just his wool overcoat. It was covered in orange cat hair and his eyes watered at the sight. “Yeah, I’ll give it to him in the morning,” he said, drawing up the plastic straps before he could start sneezing.

Belle’s smile was strained and didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m going to go get the poetry reading started now.”

“Okay. Thank you, Belle,” he said quietly as she walked away towards the small, dedicated group of poets Storybrooke had to offer.

**2**.

Andrew spoke up at breakfast when she was eyeball deep in a book. “I was wondering if you ever went through my pockets.”

She didn’t even lift her eyes, but smirked just the same. “What? Are you accusing me of pickpocketing?”

“No!” he said, laughing before his face turned serious again. “I was just… you know that night of the storm and I told you who I really was?”

“You mean the night I nearly ravished you on my couch before kicking your ass out onto the curb? Yes, I remember that. Vividly.” She finally looked at him over the edge of her book wondering why he was bringing that up. “Why?”

“Well… I had something in my coat pocket that night.” Her eyes widened to dinner plate size and he quickly added, “A necklace. Nothing extravagant, just a… I thought you’d like it.”

“You were going to bribe me?” she asked suspiciously.

“What? No! It was pretty and you’re pretty and I thought it would look pretty on you and you two could be pretty together…”

“I didn’t go through your pockets,” she interrupted before he could hurt himself. “But I’m glad I didn’t go with my original instinct to throw it out.”

He smiled, wanly. “Yeah.”

“That was months ago, though. Why are you mentioning it now?”

Andrew shrugged, his left hand fiddling with a different box inside his jacket pocket. “No reason. I was just curious.”


End file.
